


Kairos

by Kemi



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemi/pseuds/Kemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>…because sometimes, even the littlest things matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kairos

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Information:  
> What I want to receive: Either  
> Prompt: Fated by Ponta  
> What you want to see: senpai participation (optional but much appreciated), Nanjiro/Ryoga teasing Ryoma  
> What you don’t want to see: Lemon, overly-clumsy Sakuno, ooc-ness
> 
> -
> 
> Author’s Note: (tyl!RyoSaku, aka: just another AU; also I suggest Tamia’s Almost as bgm (haha) while reading)
> 
> This is a fic I made for BlackRain105 for last July 2013's ryosakuexpress! (Originally posted at: http://theryosakuexpress.tumblr.com/Blackrain105) I've been wanting to post this one here, and finally, one year later, here I am now! :)) Didn't really win anything, and isn't really specifically wonderful, but I'm proud of it anyway. =))

_Kairos (καιρός) - a time between; a moment of indeterminate time in which something special happens*_

—

_Anou, are you thirsty? How about…letting me get you something to drink?_

 

 

—are probably the lamest words she has ever said all her life to someone as compensation after being at fault.

Ryuzaki Sakuno, at age twenty-four and even back at when she’s twelve (and most likely even before then), has her way with misfortunes.

Certainly it’s not because she doesn’t make any effort with ‘everything going well’ in mind. Yet it always just…has to be her, for some inexplicable reason (namely, her natural tendency to magnetize them). Worst, much to her dismay _and embarrassment_ , most of the time she drags people with her. And she doesn’t even need to be born with two left feet to stumble and trip and fall, or be the very definition of the word ‘klutz’ (In her defense, she has gotten huge improvements from the ‘stumbling, tripping and falling’ department as the years past, though still not good enough to ward off trouble).

So given her own set of shortcomings that’s quite more than the normal ones, plus a streak of her good ol’ bad luck, she finds it even more necessary to not only try getting better and improve herself but also to express her apology (and of course, gratitude, but mostly apology) to the people who, in one way or another, get themselves involved.

And at that moment, unfortunately, only a vending machine was nearby.

 

( _“Here.”_

 _“I’m sorry, I didn’t have any change.”_ )

 

Thankfully, he, ‘Ryoma E.’ or so his tennis bag says— _ah,_ _so he’s called Ryoma-kun_ , doesn’t seem to mind at all (even when she’s ended up lacking the ¥240 she needs, causing him to buy both their shares). Actually, she’s learned that he usually doesn’t, on a lot of things.

But ever since then, she’s thought that perhaps, even something so little can be more than enough. (Maybe it’s really the thought that counts, like they say.)

And then she’s started to know more about him than just ‘the boy I met at the train’ or ‘the boy who bought me Ponta even when I got him lost by default’ along with everybody else who later became her friends. But oddly enough, she has found it difficult to do the same way of ‘saying sorry’ to anyone but him every time she’s done something that, she thinks, merits an apology. She’s realized it so after he’s done the same, however indirect…and misplaced (since she’s gotten mad on her own in the first place).

 

( _“Want to drink?”_

 _“Thank you.”_ )

 

Call her weird, ridiculous, and sentimental, but she likes to think that—

“Hey? Am I talking to someone? Yoohoo~ Earth to Sakuno?” Snapping her out of her reverie, Tomoka interrupts, waving two hands frantically in front of her.

“Huh—eh?” Ah, she must have been staring blankly somewhere the whole time.

Her best friend gives her a frustrated sigh. “I was asking if you’re thirsty, and if you want me to get you a drink. You know, to get rid of the pre-wedding jitters. Sheesh, and obviously you need one!” which makes her think, _have I really been staring somewhere blankly for that long?_

“So, what do I get yo—aha!” her maid of honor clicks her tongue, as if she’s discovered something groundbreaking. “I know just what to get you. Wait here, Sakuno, and don’t move an inch from there, got it?” then, she speaks too fast and leaves too soon.

_Really, Tomo-chan._

She shakes her head as she watches Tomoka make a run for the door in her brides mate dress, before turning her chair back to the life-sized mirror behind her. It largely feels, for the lack of better term, _surreal_ , as the mirror reflects how the white, intricately-sequined silk fits on her petite built. Or how her face, her lips, her hair, has all been prepped like how it’s bound to be, only for this day.

She tries to do a smile. And the smile she sees, from across her seat—from her reflection, is content.

Longing _,_ but content.

_This is it._

—

Echizen Ryoma, at age twenty-four and even back when he’s twelve, has never preferred mornings. And obviously, tennis aside, this extends to any activity done during those times.

However, on very rare occasions, he doesn’t mind exceptions.

He takes his time as he walks along one of the busiest streets in Tokyo, which is not far from where he’s come from. It certainly helps that it’s busy, for people can’t really tell a grand slam, award-winning tennis icon apart from the crowd, even clad in a not-so-usual coat and tie. Sure, they whisper as they see him pass by (“Hey, isn’t that Echizen Ryoma?” “’Course not. He’s in US, you know. Must be a doppelganger, or a look-alike.”), but nothing he can’t ignore.

He spots a vending machine, immediately across the venue’s entrance, so he does a little detour, drops a couple of yen for a drink. He gets his can from the machine’s slot and does a tired yawn, for he’s only had a few hours of sleep from his arrival earlier at dawn that day. But besides that, he’s eaten a Japanese breakfast and he has a Ponta on hand, so it can’t be that bad.

“Chibisuke!”

_Or can it?_

He looks around at the direction of the voice and he realizes belatedly that he decides wrong. He dons a curious frown and asks, “Why are you here?”

“Why can’t _I_ be here?” the older Echizen does a mock-disappointed snort, then crosses his arms in front of his chest squarely. “Well, I happen to be _real_ close with today’s _groom_ , and that’s so nice of you to ask, Chibisuke.” Then, a suspecting pause. “Ohoho wait, is this concern I sense?”

Although the nickname still doesn’t quite settle well for him, he doesn’t even try to think further on how his brother’s statements connect with each other, so he answers with a mere shrug, then he resumes walking.

At his reply, Ryoga gives him a meaningful snicker, holding his chin between his thumb and index finger with his eyes following his brother’s direction. “Going to the hall now? Now aren’t _you_ running a little late?”

Ryoma stops at this, and while he doesn’t think the older Echizen means something else entirely, he still replies after he checks his watch with his cheekiest tone. “I’m thirty minutes early.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Sarcastic Pants,” Ryoga remarks with a raised brow, leaning on a wall by the corridor. “Ah. Saw a couple of vaguely familiar faces on the way; that room reeks of too much mush inside that I was forced to leave for some fresh air. Consider that a warning, though better that than any of those annoying press tailing you practically _everywhere_. I was really impressed though—no media or any of that sort today. I wonder why~”

“You’re more talkative than usual,” Ryoma retorts back without missing a beat, mostly because he finds it true anyway.

“And you’re unbelievably normal. This is not a tennis match, you know.”

“Your point?”

“My point: these are one of the times when it sucks to be Echizen Ryoma.”

He decides to drop the conversation altogether, seeing no point of keeping it up. If he doesn’t know better, they will just go on and on _and on_ about either how Ryoga’s better especially to some things outside tennis to spite him, or maybe (more than) willingly discuss the other times when it sucks to be him.

In any case, not enough to keep him interested.

“Oi, Chibisuke!” Ah, but of course, he will _not_ be Echizen Ryoga if he gives it up just like that.

But Ryoma doesn’t stop this time, so his brother cups a hand around his mouth, and adds, a little louder, “It’s on to your right, the last door! You’re welcome!”

—

The few seconds after Ryoma opens the door are spent without any word. (Some of it, he’s used in thinking what has made him believe in anything that Ryoga says.) It sure can’t be the wedding hall if it’s _this_ quiet.

“Ryuzaki?”

“…Ryoma-kun?”

He blinks his surprise out, but recovers just as fast, like always. Her face outwardly tells him that he’s just gotten into the wrong room and that he’ll be subjected to another bout of teasing for later.

But before he opens his mouth to speak – not like he needs to explain himself; this is Ryuzaki, so of course she’ll understand and besides, he too can make stupid mistakes once in a while, you know – something inside his side pocket does a little beep. He frees his left hand from the unopened can he’s been holding and pulls his phone out.

 _He he he, gotcha. ;)_ the text message says.

(The not-so-surprising part goes by this one: Echizen Ryoga.)

—

“Ryuzaki?”

“…Ryoma-kun?” They say at the same time.

Sakuno tries to tone down her surprise as she turns to face her intruder, hopefully a little more confident, and a little less anxious. She feels her throat constrict (yes, maybe Tomo-chan’s right; it’s got to be the jitters), so she mentally counts down from ten, and then raises her chin up.

“You’re…here,” she hears herself say, even before she could’ve thought of a better way of breaking the silence.

“Ryoga got me here,” he explains blandly, as she sees him putting his phone back to his side pocket after a good minute of looking at its screen with his eyebrows slightly pulled together. She wonders for a while who Ryoga-san might be (the name though, sounds very familiar), but she decides to let it go, as she’s finally caught up with what she’s supposed to say.

“I, I meant today, for the ceremony. I thought you’d still be in US by now,” she clarifies, shaking her head lightly as she stands up from her chair. She remains on where she stands, however, as she finds heaps of comfort with the current distance between them.

“Oh, that,” Ryoma’s mouth does a slight ‘o’ in recognition, as if remembering some distant memory. “It finished earlier than planned.”

The America trip’s only for goodwill exhibition matches before the US open season proper, her best friend has been telling her. And although she knows that – since she too never misses any of his games, even now, as much as possible – she has gone through a lot of thinking before sending out an invitation for him. (She finally did, after Tomoka’s threat of sending it herself otherwise.) She never really thought about the source of her reluctance. But since he’s here now, right in front of her, she figures that maybe her anxiety is uncalled-for. “Congratulations. I watched the games. You were great, as always.”

“It’s impossible I’d lose anyway,” he replies, with exactly how she imagines it to be, facial expression included. _Well, Ryoma-kun is Ryoma-kun_.

The door behind him closes with a ‘ _click_ ,’ a little too loud as another pregnant silence ensues.

 _Ah._ “Um, the senpai-tachi cannot make it today. But Momoshiro-senpai, Kikumaru-senpai, Oishi-senpai and Fuji-senpai might make it to the reception that will follow later, they say,” she goes on. She finds relief that while there hasn’t been too much of a change between the two of them, at least now she can say something more sensible and less like ‘ _Ryoma-kun, what type of music do you listen to?’_

“So I heard,” Ryoma hums in agreement. Now that she’s thought about it, Momoshiro-senpai must have mentioned it to him as well. It’s been awhile since everyone’s last seen him, but they make sure they take turns in keeping him posted somehow, whether he likes it or not. (And whenever she takes said turn, it has been her habit to add ‘I hope this isn’t a bother to Ryoma-kun,’ no matter how many times he says ‘I don’t really mind’ back.)

So she continues, a little more enthusiastic than she intends to, “…I still play tennis,” to which, he promptly replies, “I know.”

Her cheeks suddenly feel hot. “You…you do?”

“Ryuzaki-sensei told me.”

“Oh,” _Of course. Obaa-chan did,_ she adds in her head. Makes her wonder a bit of what her grandmother has said to him, so she takes a mental note to ask the older Ryuzaki later. “She’s… doing fine, by the way. Still the same—plays and coaches tennis occasionally. Ah, that said, you should visit Seigaku one of these days.”

“I will.”

In the midst of her attempt to keep the small talk going, probably for old time’s sake, she finds herself curbed and lost for words. So instead, she gingerly moves a foot forward, and takes in, for the first time, how he looks that moment. How half of his collar is up but it still looks good on him anyway. Or how…….

“Um, your tux; it suits you, Ryoma-kun.”

“Aa, Yours too, not bad.” Then after a few moments, and to her surprise, he adds, “You cut your hair.”

“You, you noticed?” she holds the back of her neck consciously, as she smoothes out the brown strands and curls cascading down until a bit past her shoulders. “I mean—ah, I’ve always… wanted to try it. It doesn’t suit me after all, huh.”

He doesn’t reply to agree nor contest with her, or maybe he has, she just isn’t able to hear since—

“Sakuno-saaaan!!!”

The owner of the excited-but-bordering-hysterical voice pops in (from her neck and up) behind the door. “Ah, good, you’re here. Fifteen minutes until the ceremony starts, so please stand by, Sakuno-san! Here’s your bouquet.” Then she lets herself inside the room to hand over a bunch of pink tulips and roses.

But before any of them has managed to react, the woman in her late twenties (who’s in the middle of _taptaptapping_ her pen impatiently on her writing board, as she checks out the things she may have missed) exclaims, “Ah! Is he the one accompanying you to walk to the altar?” She’s still apparently disoriented, even as she notices ( _finally_ ) his presence.

As Sakuno’s just about to open her mouth for the explanation, the woman looks at her with narrowed eyes making her do three steps back. “Hmmm wait; something’s still wrong—ah, your veil! Tsk, where’s Tomoka-san when you need her, really!”

And then, “Ah, Mister….?” the hysteria carries on, with the narrowed eyes now on Ryoma, as the woman takes his coat for him, placing it on the couch nearby. “Yes, _you_ —can you pull her veil over for her? It will be a bit difficult for her to do it on her own so please do the honor. I’d appreciate that very much, thank you. Ah and do proceed to the hall as soon as you’re done, yes? Tick tock, tick tock!”

Then Rika-san leaves and this time, Sakuno is the first to recover from the strings of words relentlessly thrown to both of them. She fights the urge to do an amused giggle at his reaction—though of course it doesn’t last long; he probably hasn’t seen a rattled woman around him for a long while now.

“I—Rika-san gets too jumpy at things like these,” she does a curt bow to him (in behalf of the older woman), and with only a blank stare from him as a reply, she supplies, “Rika-san, my friend and my… wedding planner.”

He answers with a shrug then a few steps forward, leaning a bit closer (which has caused that now-far-too-distant blush to immediately come back and dust her cheeks pink) to pull, from behind with both of his hands, the veil over her head carefully.

Another wordless minute passes again, before he says, “Best wishes.”

A lot of times she’s longed for him to say more than what he’s supposed to, even just this once, but she lets the thought go as soon as it crosses her mind, as she’s always managed to convince herself that _this_ , and he being Echizen Ryoma, suffices. “Thank you. I’m happy you made it today.”

Moments after, she hears him say “No problem” as she walks past him and then heads for the small table where he’s placed his untouched Ponta earlier. _Ah,_ _it isn’t as cold anymore_ , she thinks, and she holds it for what’s seemed like a long while before she looks back to him.

“Um, here,” she grips the can a bit tighter with both her white-gloved hands, before slowly raising it up to him. “It’s…orange this time,” she casually comments, well _tries to_ , as she meets his eyes. (And all of a sudden she doesn’t know if she should be thankful to the white veil for obscuring her view.)

His hand stays clasped around hers for probably more than a fleeting moment before he gets his can from her hold. Sakuno catches his lips quirk a little upward, the same one he’s worn whenever he’s given her share of the drink back then. (She idly wonders if she can consider that more as a smile than a smirk.)

 

“I better go,” he says, adjusting his hold on his suit’s coat and hanging it back up again over his right shoulder.

“Oh—um yes, of course. Horio-kun and the others are there at the hall now,” she does a nod at this, and then a step back. “I, I’ll stay here for awhile.”

At another bout of silence, and with his eyes still on hers questioningly, she tries to remember what else she’s missed, and— “Ah! Um, it’s on the left hallway from the main lobby, last door.”

She observes him for awhile more, and does a little laugh when he replies “Thank you” with a look that says something along the lines of ‘You’re not getting me lost again, are you, as per usual?’ Then again, she _does_ get him lost a lot.

She watches Ryoma heads for the door, waving a hand to him as her laugh waters down to a smile.

The _‘ah,_ _this should be just about right’_ kind of smile _._

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> FOOTNOTES
> 
> \- * is taken from wikipedia (Kairos, definition)
> 
> \- Ponta scene references are taken from POT’s Episode 1 (The Prince Appears) and Episode 24 (Ryoma’s Holiday).
> 
> \- disclaimer (just in case I’d be unknowingly stepping one’s belief on the matter, since I’ve read some of them—I have nothing against anyone, swear): the wedding veil used in this story doesn’t follow any belief/superstition. It’s just there for the plot’s sake ha ha :)
> 
> \- I really…um, apologize to my entry’s recipient; this is probably the least kind of ending you expected (believe me, I really didn’t want it too, at first, however I find this one the most suitable out of all the possible scenarios in my head so I’m really sorry), but I hope I still pulled the piece off according to your request! ;w; y-you really didn’t exclude ‘angst’/’what-if’ kinds of fics so—/gunned
> 
> \- special thanks to my beta reader (hello, you know who you are), and the song Someday We’ll Know for the inspiration.


End file.
